


Stained Glass

by Thealmostrhetoricalquestion



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Community: hp_drizzle, Dancing in the Rain, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, HP Drizzle Fest 2019, Harry Potter Next Generation, Post-Hogwarts, Swearing, Synesthesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-09-01 17:50:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20262091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thealmostrhetoricalquestion/pseuds/Thealmostrhetoricalquestion
Summary: If Albus had been shown the script of his life for the next few weeks, he would have rolled it up and hit the person over the head until they fell down, weeping at their own stupidity. People don't fall in love in dark theatres, over cups of tea and piano music, he would have said. Especially notthesepeople. Not a Potter and a Malfoy.But they can. And they do.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to L and B, my lovely beta's. I hope this splurge of fluff and musical flirting does the prompt justice. Enjoy!

One woman stood and opened her mouth, and out of it poured a ghastly string of notes cobbled together not unlike some sort of war-time dish; it was the pale fleshy brown of Frankfurter’s and the sickly, mushy yellow of banana slices, and the rubbery faint pink of uncooked chicken all buried in a mound of jelly. 

“You shouldn’t have asked for any more auditions,” Albus muttered out of the corner of his mouth, sinking low in his seat. “I blame you for this.”

“Shut up.”

“Seriously, call a Healer.” He was barely heard over the woman’s cacophonous singing. “My ears _and_ eyes are going to need some tender loving care after this.”

Rose sighed through her nose. She had taken the seat in the middle of the table, below the stage, where the judgements and critical scribbling took place. Her quill was blunt by now. Albus had yet to see an expression on her face that suggested she wouldn't rather be lying in a morgue. 

“Yes, thank you, that’s enough of that,” Rose called. The woman cut herself off abruptly as Rose massaged her temples. “Quite enough. Thank you very much, but I’m afraid that’s all we’ve got time for today.”

The woman sniffed, shuffling to the edge of the stage. Rose stood to dismiss everyone, and Albus sat in the resulting pitcher of swirling, disappointed colour and sound as people readied themselves to leave. Spells snapped here and there as props and instruments began to pile themselves away. 

“Oh.”

The noise should not have been audible over the scrape of wooden chairs and discontented mutters, but Albus heard it anyway. He saw a faint shiver of silver. He craned his neck. Amongst the rabble, he spotted a patch of white-blonde up in the wings of the stage, near the tipped-over speaker that was often used as a plinth to rest scripts and props. 

“Back in a minute,” Albus said absently, ignoring Rose’s raised eyebrow. He left her shuffling notes and fielding questions while he ducked through the grumbling crowd. A few turned hopeful eyes on him, but he ignored them too. People were always vaguely interested in the comings and goings of Potters and Weasleys, even more so when they deigned to come out in public. It used to bother him, and there were many a disgruntled review of his behaviour in this papers when he was fresh out of Hogwarts. But now the eyes slid off him like water, and the gazes didn't do much to pierce his focus. 

His back ached from the way he’d been slouching in his chair for over two hours, so he stopped to stretch, possibly making an odd fool of himself in the middle of the theatre before moving again. More people stared, and Albus ignored them too. 

The side-door led to the wings, which drifted up a set of narrow black stairs and curved off towards the back entrance to the theatre. Albus climbed them, a loose grip on his wand as he listened for spells or jinxes. The white-blonde patch shifted in the distance, at the far end of a dark corridor. 

“Are you lost?” Albus called. The white-blonde patch jerked in surprise, doubling back with another little, ‘oh!’ 

Albus heard it even clearer than the last one; silver sparks burst before him. He passed the spare stacks of chairs they used for the busy reading room until he stood in front of a bloke with hair brighter than any metal. It was hard to see his face in the gloom, but his eyes shone. They really needed to get better lamps down here. 

“Not lost, not anymore,” the bloke said, marginally flustered. “Oh, that sounded—I don't mean because you’re here—although it’s very nice of you to ask, of course, but I just meant, um. I was meant to get here an hour ago, but I got lost before I found this place, see.”

Albus had met many people who triggered his Synesthesia. Most sounds did, therefore most _people_ did, but there hadn’t been anybody yet with a voice as pleasant as this. It was fascinating, the way the colour brightened the more nervous the bloke sounded; perhaps because he was agitated, and so his words shook and reformed. It wasn’t something that distracted Albus anymore, not really, and it wasn't something that he generally spent a lot of time noting. It felt natural now, but God, this was nice to sink into. 

“What’s your name?” 

“Scorpius,” white-blonde-silver said, drawing himself upright. “Scorpius Malfoy.”

Albus knew that name. It was fairly impossible to exist in England and not know that name. He didn't know that the name, spoken in this particular voice, looked like starlight. 

“Hi, Scorpius,” Albus said, glancing down at his tightly-fisted hands. They were pale, unlike Albus’s own, slightly darker skin, and a silver band was coiled tightly around one finger. 

It would have been fairly easy to assume that a Malfoy was here to cause trouble. He didn't know much about this Malfoy in particular, but the others hadn’t been the sweet, unassuming sort that lived idyllic country lives and never got into mischief. But Albus had made it his mission not to make assumptions based on names. And there was really only one reason why anyone would be skulking around a darkened theatre. 

“Were you here to audition?”

Scorpius deflated, his hands uncurling. It seemed as though all the energy had slunk out of him. “I was. I got here late, though.”

“It was a two hour slot,” Albus said, bemused. “How are you two hours late?”

“Like I said. I got lost.”

“Albus?” Rose’s heels clicked smartly down the corridor towards them, halting Albus’s response. “I evicted the rabble, but Lily wants to meet for tea, so I’m leaving you with the notes. Go over them, see who you think might be a good fit, even though we both know most of them were bloody buggering awful, and I’ll review—oh.”

Everyone was saying ‘oh’ a lot today. 

“Rose, this is Scorpius,” Albus said, amusement overtaking bewilderment. “He’s here to audition.”

Scorpius waved weakly. “Yes, that’s me, Scorpius. I was just leaving—wait, what?”

“He’s here to audition for the Memorial Show,” Albus repeated. 

“I am?” Scorpius cleared his throat. “I mean, yes. Yes, I am. If that’s still allowed?”

Rose eyed them both shrewdly. Her clipboard was tucked under her arm, her mass of red hair pulled back into a tight bun. It gave her a very severe, school teacher look, one that she utilised often in the face of ignorance or arrogance, but Albus knew that her soft heart was encased in gold. He also knew that their line-up was shit so far, and Rose was a perfectionist above all else, with a reputation as one of London’s finest theatre Director’s to uphold. 

“I just locked everything up,” Rose said, a touch of warning in her voice that deepened the blue. When Rose spoke, the sounds were always a sharp blue that Albus now looked at fondly, no matter how derogatory the words were. 

“I’ll lock up again when we leave,” Albus promised her, waving her down the hall. “Don't worry, alright? Go and meet Lily, complain about how bad and unoriginal artists are these days, and talk shit about me behind my back. I’ll do the audition.”

“You really don't have to—” Scorpius began.

“Fine,” Rose said. “Fine, but if you leave the doors unlocked again or the lights on, you’re paying for it later. I do mean _literally_ paying for it if anything gets stolen. And you’re still looking through the notes.”

Albus rolled his eyes, waving a hand pointedly. She treated them to one last inscrutable look before bustling off down the corridor, disappearing through the door. It swung shut behind her, leaving them in gentle darkness. 

“So that’s Rose Weasley,” Scorpius mused, before the silence could settle. “She’s sort of exactly as I expected.”

Most people had heard of Rose Weasley, and most people had the same view of her. That didn't mean Albus couldn't feel a small stirring of disappointment, that Scorpius clearly had more thoughts of Rose than Albus. 

“Not that she didn't seem nice,” Scorpius added quickly, watching Albus with some measure of anxiety. “She’s also just…”

“Terrifying?” 

“And all the possible synonyms,” Scorpius agreed, with a relieved grin. 

Albus grinned back. He lead Scorpius back through the hall, but turned left before they reached the door at the end, bringing them out of the wings and onto the stage. A flick of his wand brought the recently-doused candles to life, filling the room with an oily light. 

The theatre was an old building that used to be The Swiggin’ Pig, a pub nestled in the Borough of Holborn. Not strictly a Wizarding pub, and yet frequented by Goblins all the same, it had been donated to Gringotts upon the owner’s untimely death, and handed neatly to various Ministry officials for a steep price. Rose had offered an even steeper price one autumn evening, and now The Swiggin’ Pig was something of a refuge for the musically-inclined. 

It was all dark wooden walls and creaky floorboards, and barrels of ale still sat in the back, waiting to be thrown out. The bar was gone, and the room had expanded to fit a rather cramped stage, a space for seats and certain tables of judgement, and the area underneath where the set-ups happened, which used to be a wine cellar. Above was the reading room where scripts were printed, read together, and altered, and across from that was a separate office that was mostly crammed full of stuff that Albus had accumulated over the years. 

“So I wasn’t kidding about that audition,” Albus said, turning on his heel to walk backwards, facing Scorpius. Scorpius had a look of awe on his face as he gazed around. There were certainly fancier places to perform, but the theatre had a quality to it that vast, echoing stages couldn't replicate. It felt like a home away from home now. It was nice to see the appreciation in Scorpius’s face. 

“You really don't have to do this, if you’re busy,” Scorpius said, lingering near the overturned speaker. He glanced down and let out a delighted exclamation. “Is this Muggle technology?”

“Yeah, kinda.” Albus didn't try to hide his surprise at the question. Of all the people in the world to notice Muggle technology, Albus didn't expect a Malfoy to be on the list. 

Scorpius must have noticed his bewilderment. His back straightened, and he drew himself up to his full height—which was at least several inches shorter than Albus, to his surprise. 

“I do know some things,” Scorpius said, a little defensively, as though he sensed where Albus’s thoughts were at. “Not all Purebloods care about blood purity anymore.”

“I didn't say anything.”

“Muggles really are clever, aren't they?” Scorpius drummed his fingers against the speaker. “How come it's here?” 

“Rose didn't get her reputation for nothing. We can use a Sonorous to project sound, obviously, but sometimes the pieces sound cleaner with Muggle technology.”

“I suppose they’d have to be. It’s not as if they have another way, really, is it?”

The question was not really a question, more of an admiring statement given voice. It wasn’t the slow-curling derision that lots of Wizards spoke of Muggles with. Albus finished crossing the stage and tugged the red curtain aside from where it had bunched up during some more overzealous performances; a door was hidden behind it, locked shut, but it swung open upon being revealed. 

“I’m not sure what you had in mind for auditions, but the instruments are stored through here. You didn't bring an instrument with you, did you? No, okay, well, unless you planned on singing or reading lines, you’ll find most of what you need in there.”

Scorpius hesitated. 

“I promise it’s not an issue,” Albus said, shrugging. “I didn't have anywhere to be, if that's what you're worried about, and we need as many people as we can get for the show. The instruments are there for everyone to use.”

“It’s not that,” Scorpius said, before adding hastily, “Although I’m glad I’m not keeping you from anything important. I was just wondering—the advert in the newspaper said that there would be a piano?”

Albus felt his eyes bug out of his head. Nobody had asked for a piano yet. Most people had auditioned with their own voices, or strumming guitars, and one man had played a lovely melody on a violin. For the most part, though, it was singers. 

“Yeah,” Albus said, eyes wide. “We do. It's—I don't like to use magic on it, since it's a Muggle-made instrument, so we’ll have to go through the back. I didn't think to bring it out.” 

The back was simply another room behind the stage, same floor, same walls, same oily light. A piano stood slightly to the left, clean and in pristine condition despite clearly being an older model. Albus took great pride in any and all pianos, particularly the ones he’d put a lot of work into. 

“It’s in tune, but if you want a different sort of sound, just let me know,” Albus said, stepping aside so that Scorpius could follow him into the room. “How long have you been playing?”

“For years,” Scorpius said, his voice touched with some sort of dusty emotion, like he hadn’t taken it off the shelf in a while. He ran a hand lovingly across the cover, fondness gathering at the corners of his mouth. 

Scorpius suddenly withdrew his hand. “I haven’t played as often as I’d like lately. I might not be very good?”

“I suppose there’s only one way to find out.”

Albus summoned a small stool from the wings. It whizzed through the open door, which shut behind it, and Albus sat down near the piano. Scorpius kept his eyes fixed on Albus, watching him anxiously, as though he thought Albus might change his mind at any moment. 

“Haven’t got all day,” Albus teased, although he internally admitted that he’d wait a long time to see what kind of music Scorpius Malfoy could make. 

It jolted Scorpius into action. He sat at the piano stool and touched one forefinger to the keys. Albus, who kept the piano in tune when it needed tuning and who treated the hammers with the finest care, smiled at the familiar note of the middle C. It produced a soft flicker of blue, lighter than Rose’s voice. 

Scorpius took a breath. Albus felt the room and his heart grow still. And then there was sound. Fingers dripped over the keys, prompting soft colours to burst and music to ring through the room. There were a few shaky moments, a few stuttering sounds, before Scorpius swept smoothly into a song. 

Scorpius didn't sing, but he didn't need to. Albus watched, breathless, as entire stories painted the room in full blooming colour. He saw gold honey poured over dark wood, glinting in slow, sticky sunlit streams. He saw yellow, too, but not sickly yellow or bleached grass: this was the yellow of honeydew melons, of plump fruit ripening in hot Italian orchards, begging to be picked. There were no sharp blues or evening sounds; just endless rivers of syrup and treacle, enveloping and warm, so sweet that he could taste it running down his throat. 

The colours lingered as the notes began to fade. When the room fell silent, all that was left was small puffs of grey, shallow breathing. Scorpius had shaky hands and a peaceful expression. 

“I don't think I know that song,” Albus said, clearing his throat. The sound felt ugly and clogged in the wake of that kind of music. “Did you compose it?”

“With a little help,” Scorpius admitted, smiling a little. “Did you like it?”

_Like it?_ That didn't quite cover the range of emotions Albus had felt. It felt like an inadequate description, like calling a mountain a contrary little bump in the ground. 

“I did.” Albus stood up, waving his hands around helplessly. “I don't really know how to describe how much I liked that, but I think I’m going to need ten other languages, for a start.”

Scorpius’s cheeks flushed red. “Oh, dear Merlin. Stop.”

“I can’t. It was too good, and now I’ve died.”

“Please.”

“All other music is ruined now.”

“Shut up!” Scorpius said, but he was laughing at the same time, and the strange tension had broken. Albus grinned at him and moved closer, resting one hand on the piano. He could still feel it vibrating faintly, a satisfied hum that couldn’t be heard. 

“I’m curious. You said you could change the sound if I wanted?” Scorpius tipped his head to the side, still seated on the stool. He kept one hand resting gently on the keys; not pressing, simply touching. “Do you play?”

“Fuck, no,” Albus blurted out, then shook his head with a small, sheepish laugh. “I wish. I practiced every day for a few months, but it didn't give me as much joy as listening did. I still love the piano, though. It’s my favourite instrument, and after I left school, I went to another school abroad and studied piano tuning.”

“Really?” Scorpius stared up at him in surprise. “That’s not what—sorry, it’s just, that’s not what I expected.”

Albus shrugged. “Yeah, I don't think many people expected that. I like it, though. And you’d be surprised how much work I get now, even though I’m still technically a trainee. Wizards like to hoard lots of old junk that they don't use, and that includes instruments like pianos. Add magic to the mix, and I end up with lots of clients.”

The conversation seemed to flow a little easier after that. Scorpius asked about some of his strangest client stories, and Albus, who had always been a good storyteller, obliged happily. They left the piano room and lingered on the stage for a bit, putting away various chairs and odd bits of equipment while Albus hunted for the key. It was a Gringotts key, much like the ones used for the vaults, and the brass handle made it hard to hold and easy to lose in such a dark building. It was also impossible to summon, which made Albus’s life ten times harder. 

“Is this it?” Scorpius asked, emerging from beneath the table, dusty and panting. He held up the key and Albus held up his hands in triumph. 

“Yes, thank fuck. Rose would have killed me if I somehow lost it, and then she’d never let me in here without supervision.” 

Scorpius handed over the key with a tiny smile that lit up his whole face. Albus blinked rapidly, grasping the key like a lifeline. Surely, he thought, as Scorpius turned to straighten up the table, there had to be some rules? Surely Scorpius couldn’t play music like that _and_ look so very lovely when he smiled?

“Leave some good genes for the rest of the world,” Albus muttered.

“Hmm?”

“Nothing,” Albus shook his head. “Come on, I’ll see you out.”

The Swiggin’ Pig opened up onto a mostly-empty street. The sky had darkened while they talked inside, and now it was the rough shade of charcoal, pockmarked with blue. Albus fumbled with the key in the cold; as it turned, the wards slipped into place, hiding the entrance from view and cloaking the building in relative safety. He pocketed the key to give to Rose the next morning; it would be a miracle if she let him sleep in past six, but he held onto hope anyway. 

“There,” Albus said, turning to face Scorpius. “Now you can tell Rose that I did my job and locked up properly.”

Scorpius, hovering anxiously on the step, smiled again. “I doubt I’ll be seeing her, but I’ll be sure to pass on the message if I do.”

“What?”

They blinked at each other. Albus was the first to start frowning. 

“Did I not say that bit about you ruining all other music for me out loud? I meant to.”

Scorpius hesitated, one hand tucked in the pocket of his trousers. “You did.”

“Why would I say that and then not let you in the show?” Albus crept a little closer; he didn't know Scorpius well enough to hug him or put a hand on his shoulder, but he wanted to, badly. Especially when Scorpius looked at him, wide-eyed and blown away. 

“Oh my, well. That’s—oh, that’s. Are you sure?”

“I have to talk to Rose, but she doesn’t get all the say,” Albus said. “So I’m very sure when I say that, if you want a part, it’s yours.”

The anxiety seemed to melt out of Scorpius, and he sagged on the top step as much as one could whilst still standing. His face lit up with a buoyant, boyish grin. If Albus thought his tiny smile was a light in the dark, then this was a firework display. 

“I do,” Scorpius said. “I definitely, definitely do.”

“Then I’ll be in touch.” Albus grinned too, just as relieved. “Probably by owl, but you’ll hear from me either way. And I’ll get someone to help me wheel the piano out for you.”

“Can’t wait.”

Albus stayed by the door as Scorpius made his way down the steps, onto the street. The lamplight threw his white-blonde hair into stark relief, but his grin was brighter as he ambled towards the Apparation point, near an old fire hydrant. Albus watched him wave once, and then disappear with a pop that sent a shiver of deep green across the ground. 

Albus stood a little longer on the step and contemplated giving himself a good shake when he realised he missed the silver of Scorpius’s voice.


	2. Chapter 2

With morning came a fresh burst of rain and the arrival of Rose through the Floo. The rain didn’t last long enough for Albus to enjoy the goose-feather white sparks of its song, but Rose certainly had plans to stick around.

She dusted herself off on Albus’s rug, snakeskin boots curling with distaste at his mismatched decor. Everything was second-hand, pilfered from relatives or bought cheap from charity stores, and nothing had a proper place. There were lamps and plants on every surface, and strange ornaments tucked here and there that made Albus snort when he looked at them. His favourite, in particular, was the large porcelain rooster that took up half the mantelpiece, howled every day at three in the afternoon, and wore a monocle over its beady eye. 

“I swear, I get a headache as soon as I step inside your flat,” Rose said, wincing theatrically as she withdrew her wand. “Scourgify!” 

The soot that tarnished her pressed green trousers was scrubbed clean in an instant, and Rose busied herself with his whistling kettle. Albus picked his head up briefly from where it was pressed against the kitchen table and grunted a greeting. He’d stayed up stupidly late last night, working through the notes from auditions and letting his mind stray far too often to Scorpius Malfoy and his starlit hair. Hair like that wasn’t natural, surely. A face like that wasn’t natural, surely! Albus had gone over every smile and word until even his brain was begging him to stop, and now he was paying the price. 

“You need better coffee,” Rose announced, sniffing the pot of granules and grimacing, as she always did. “And a shower. A proper one, not just a spritz with air freshener and a spell. I’m not bringing you into the theatre like that, you’ll disgrace me.” 

“I gave Scorpius Malfoy a part in the performance.” 

Rose turned very slowly on her jagged heel, much like a snake would upon sensing their quivering prey, if snakes were prone to wearing heels made of their own shiny skin. “You gave Scorpius Malfoy a part in the performance.” 

“Yeah.” 

“The very important performance that we put on every year to commemorate the victory of the Battle of Hogwarts, and to both celebrate the bravery and mourn the loss of those that died in the war?” 

Albus turned to face her, keeping his cheek pressed against the parchment littering his table. There were so many notes obscuring the surface that his tablecloth was going to feel abandoned at this rate. “Well unless you’re cheating on us with another performance, then yeah. That performance.” 

“The performance that no Malfoy has attended since its conception and which boasts the highest turn-out of both Ministry officials _and_ up-and-coming celebrities every year? You gave him a part in that performance?” 

“I mean, yeah, but I’m pretty sure I also gave him my hand in marriage too, if he wants it, so there’s that,” Albus said, squinting at the trembling kettle. “You’re going to burn your coffee and I’ll never get the smell out of my kitchen.” 

“Albus,” Rose said very tightly. Blue light stretched thin as a bowstring, quavering before him. It wasn’t quite in the air the way that everyone imagined. It wasn’t that the colour that sound evoked blocked the things he saw. It was another layer, one that he could never quite explain. 

“Yes, Rose?”

“Please tell me you didn't give Scorpius Malfoy, a person who could very easily bring this entire thing crashing down around me, a part in this performance because you want to fuck him.”

Albus lifted his head entirely up off the table and glared at her. She was holding the pot of granules like a lifeline, her glossy red nails digging into the faded label, and her face was set in stony determination. If that was all she was, Albus would have sworn right back at her. But he knew her better than that. There was panic there, in the corners of her eyes, and Albus sighed even though he didn't feel particularly forgiving at the moment. 

“Right, don't say shit like that, okay? He’s not—it’s not like that. And even if it was, you don't have to talk about him _or_ me like that.”

Rose seemed to grow even more tense, her body constricting, before she wilted against the counter like a bloom on a hot day. Albus reorganised the notes and rubbed the sleep from his eyes while she quietly made coffee, and he only looked at her when she sat in the opposite chair. 

“Sorry,” she said, sounding more like the Rose he knew from school. She smiled rather sheepishly and pushed his mug over the table. “That was out of line, I’m sorry.”

“I do like him,” Albus admitted, curling his fingers through the handle of his mug. “I do. I don't think it’s like _that_ yet, but it could be. He’s interesting, and he was easy to talk to, and he—he has a really nice smile.” Groaning suddenly, Albus put his head down on the table again, narrowly avoiding his steaming hot mug. “Fuck, I sound ridiculous. I sound like James.”

Rose laughed at him as kindly as she could. “Even James isn’t as pathetic as you, sweetpea.” She laughed again when he flipped her off, not moving from his prone position. “Look, I shouldn’t have said that stuff about you wanting to fuck him, even if it looks like you’ll eventually get there.”

She grinned viciously at his mournful whine, and reached over to pat him on the back of his head. There was a hint of sharpness as her nails dug into his unruly hair. 

“But this is still my job, and yours too, and I can’t afford for this to fall through. Not with the amount of attention this always pulls in. Tell me that he’s actually good.”

Albus nodded, feeling the rough kiss of parchment against his cheek. “He played the piano. He’s one of the best I’ve seen in a long time.”

Rose’s nails retreated, and her thoughts seemed to fill the room. Albus saw things differently, and that was something that their whole family knew by now. They had known since he was little, since the first set of diagnostic spells and the humbling realisation that there wasn’t really anything to fix. It was something of a gift, at times, and one that Rose was very quick to open. 

“He’s good, then,” Rose said. Not a question. “Describe it?”

Albus didn’t think he could. He thought of honey on wood and the syrup-sweet sounds that Scorpius wrung from stubborn keys, keys that Albus had studied and knew how to fix, but couldn’t possibly begin to understand. It was indescribable, but Rose looked expectant. She would need something, one small truth. He propped his chin up on his hand and stared thoughtfully at the dust motes in the air, made visible by the sunlight that bloomed after rain.

Softly, Albus said, “Have you ever seen light through a stained glass window?” 

The dust motes moved with lazy indifference. Rose drummed her nails against the table and took a sip of coffee, before inhaling deeply. Albus watched her, wary. 

“Well, fuck.” Rose exhaled a curse. “Welcome to the performance, Scorpius bloody Malfoy.”


	3. Chapter 3

The doors to the theatre slammed open with the discrete demeanour of a thundering tornado. Whoever had shoved it had clearly expected more resistance, because they burst through with a surprised cry and skidded along the creaking floorboards. 

Flutes and violins screeched to an unsteady halt, the clamour of unruly instruments and the sighs of their stubborn owners echoing off the lantern-light-soaked walls. Albus winced at the crash of colour, the jagged spikes that only practice would soothe. It was the first rehearsal, one of many, and no amount of magic could make their performance worth watching yet. 

The doors slid shut again. Rose spun around at the interruption, her eyes narrowing to slits, and someone with a flute let out one grumbling toot. 

Albus put the last chair down, aisles finally formed, and flicked his wand. A stack of paint-brushes soared up to the stage, where the performers stood glowering and muttering at the intrusion. With a nudge from Albus, the paint-brushes began to stroke up and down their arms, badgering them until the muttering stopped and everyone began to shift uncertainly. Albus hid a grin as one paint-brush got a little over-zealous, tangling its bristles in Connor Excelby’s hair. 

“Stop gawping!” Rose yelled, clicking smartly down the aisle Albus had just finished putting together. Each chair had cushions fastened to the seat and Albus’s blood, sweat and tears dripping down the legs. With Rose standing over him and glaring hard enough to crack his skull, it would have been a surprise if he _hadn’t_ cried. “If you don't have anything to keep you occupied, then make yourselves useful and start painting the background!”

Albus didn't stay to watch the performers scurry about in a frenzy. Rose was terrifying when she was in Rehearsal Model, but she was even more terrifying when she was in Rehearsal Mode and somebody dared to be late. Albus took off down the aisle after her, but he wasn’t quite fast enough to reach the double doors before she did. 

“Malfoy,” Rose said. “Nice of you to finally show your face.”

Scorpius looked as though he’d been dragged through a hedge backwards. He was panting and his wand was clutched in his fist, so he’d clearly only just Apparated, and then sprinted from the fire hydrant to The Swiggin’ Pig. His clothes were in disarray, half his collar upturned, and his hair stuck up like rumpled porcupine spines. It was a good look on him.

“Sorry,” Scorpius gasped out, swiping a hand over his forehead. “There was a… a problem, but I’m here now!”

“I can see that.”

Albus flinched. He knew that icy tone, and the shards of blue that spiked the air with every vowel. Scorpius didn't flinch, but he did sag like a wet paper bag when Rose turned on her heel, dismissing them both. She shot Albus a sharp look as she passed.

“This was your decision,” she muttered in his ear. “That makes it your mess to clean up.”

“Yeah, _thanks_ for that,” Albus muttered back, waving her away. Scorpius was messy, certainly, but he wasn’t a mess, and Rose wasn’t looking so put-together either. Her clothes were neat enough to make a pin green with envy, but her temper was so frazzled that Albus could see the red ends of it, trailing after her like vicious smoke. 

He waited until he could hear her harassing the other performers, and then he turned his full attention to Scorpius. His eyes got caught on the white-blond tufts of his hair again. Sticking up like that, it was like a distressed cloud had latched onto the first thing it had seen that morning. He wanted to run his fingers through it, feel the softness and soothe away the wrinkles. 

Scorpius must have caught him looking, because he started flattening it down hastily. 

“I did say nine o’clock, right?” Albus checked. 

“No, you did!” Scorpius said, still frantically smoothing his hair down. “I knew it was nine o’clock, I just couldn’t get here on time.” At Albus’s curious look, Scorpius added hastily, “I did try. I really did, and I would have been here sooner, but like I said, there was a problem.”

The Auror career had never stood out to Albus, regardless of how disappointing that was to the people in his life. But he didn't need to be an Auror to know when people were flat-out lying to his face, and Scorpius Malfoy was doing just that. 

“It won’t happen again,” Scorpius added eagerly, following him down the aisle. 

Albus threw him a smile, but inside he felt uneasy. He hoped it wouldn’t happen again; he’d spent the last thirty-five minutes checking his watch incessantly, watching the little planets go round and round the face until he was queasy. He _wanted_ Scorpius to be here. He just wasn’t sure that Scorpius was telling the truth. 

“You missed the first read-through, but that was really just to make sure everyone who needed a script had one,” Albus explained, as they stopped at the bottom of the stage. “You’re not planning on acting, are you? Right, so. I’ll grab you a script before the next read-through but this is just to see where everyone fits. I’m still working on the piano, so you can come with me in a bit and tell me what kind of sound you want from it.”

Scorpius fumbled his bottom lip between his teeth. Albus felt a sharp tug of want in his gut, and ignored it. “I’ll pretend to know what you mean by that. And in the meantime?”

Laughing softly, Albus wrapped his fingers in the soft cuff of Scorpius’s creased sleeve and towed him up the stage steps. “In the meantime, we’ll do introductions, and you can help the rest of us paint.”

“I feel I should mention that my last painting attempt took place in the early, drunken hours of a mopey Tuesday when I was much younger and more misguided.” Scorpius grimaced and stumbled on the top step. “Father’s always been supportive of me, but I think he said my portrait of Horace Slughorn looked like ‘a House Elf with a fatal case of Spattergroit.’ So I’ll give it a go, but I might not be the best choice for this.”

Albus passed him a paintbrush with bent, bothered bristles. He was well aware that the others were giving them a wide berth, and several vicious looks, but he ignored them. The Malfoy family had safely ensconced themselves in the arms of Europe after the war, and Albus didn't remember Scorpius being at Hogwarts, though he was sure they should have attended at the same time. Wherever he’d gone to school, he seemed like the type of person to stay out of the limelight. It was odd, then, to see Scorpius, the spitting image of all that Malfoy’s should be, standing very plainly on a stage and offering to help. 

Instead of drawing attention to the looks, Albus said, “Why were you painting Horace Slughorn? And why were you doing it drunk?”

“He’d just rejected my application for a Potion Master Apprenticeship.” Scorpius shrugged, twirling the brush as though it was nothing, but his expression said otherwise. “I was expressing myself.”

Albus couldn’t stop a snort from escaping. Scorpius looked delighted at the sound, his face lighting up, and he practically dragged Albus towards the nearest board of clean, sanded wood that needed painting. Connor Excelby was there, arguing with his brush. He looked up warily when Scorpius cleared his throat. 

“Hello!” Scorpius said brightly, before seemingly running out of steam. He shuffled his feet awkwardly and added, “Lovely day, isn’t it?”

Through the oval windows framed with curtains of purple velour, the streets of Holborn formed the playground for a boisterous wind and a game of chase. The leaves were winning, Albus thought, as he watched them skate beneath a dreary sky. It was many things outside, but not a lovely day. 

Connor quirked an eyebrow. He stood in a pair of paint-stained dungarees, and his guitar was propped up on the plinth nearby. He didn't say anything, though a slow nod rather took the remaining wind out of Scorpius’s sails. 

Inwardly, Albus sighed. He wasn’t used to being the most socially competent person in the room. 

“You’re both in the first half of the performance, I think, unless Rose changes a bunch of shit around again.” Albus pointed at them both in turn. “Scorpius, Connor. Connor, Scorpius.”

“No dilly-dallying,” Rose snapped, materialising out of the ether to glare at them. All of them jumped, Albus included, and she smirked. “Albus, a word?”

With that, she sashayed towards the edge of the stage. 

“She really is quite something, isn’t she?” Scorpius said, peering over Albus’s shoulder. “I mean, utterly terrifying, but still something.”

Connor snorted. “Yeah, she’s something alright. Come on then, Malfoy. I'm shit at trees, so you can do them.” 

Connor lead Scorpius over to a bucket of green paint. They looked back several times, but Albus couldn't be sure whether Scorpius was looking at him or at Rose. Not that it mattered. He was just looking, anyway. 

“Albus!” Rose hissed. 

Rolling his eyes, Albus walked to his doom. Up close, he could see the tick forming at the corner of her eye, and he sighed. There were a few stray wisps of hair peeling away from her strict bun. 

“Rosie, I say this with love, but you need to relax or someone’s going to call the Aurors,” Albus said. When she frowned, he put both hands on her shoulders and gently added, “Because I will have murdered you.” 

She shook off his hands. “Albus, be serious.” 

“No, that's James. I’m Albus _Severus.”_

“I'm not responding to that. Look, this is only the first rehearsal, and Malfoy was late. I haven't even heard him play yet, so I don't know if you made a mistake adding him to the show.” She pulled a face at the same time as him, her stern look relaxing a little. “Yeah, yeah, I know. His music makes you feel gooey inside. But I can't agree with you if he isn't here to prove it, can I?” 

She had a point, but Albus remained hopeful. He peered over his shoulder and watched as Scorpius rambled inaudibly, but undoubtedly awkwardly, to Connor, who looked more and more bemused by the second. There was already paint on Scorpius’s shirt, and the paint brush was lax in his hands, dripping forest-green on the floor. Albus’s chest did something interesting then, growing far too small for all it contained. He wanted people to like Scorpius, and he wasn't even sure why. 

“Like you said, it's only the first rehearsal,” Albus said, with renewed determination. “He was late once. There's still time for him to prove how good he is, and you haven't even gone through all the musicians yet.”

“I am _trying!”_ Rose began, her voice no more than a mutinous squawk.

“Christ, Rosie, that wasn't a criticism. Don't get your knickers in a twist!” 

“Just watch Malfoy, will you?” Rose snapped. “And tell him not to be late again.” 

She left Albus gaping after her on the edge of the stage. He made a mental note to place a Floo call to Aunt Hermione… who would be just as frazzled by upcoming Ministry elections, and funding allocations, if he remembered correctly. Maybe Uncle Ron was a better bet. They were both pretty good at reigning in Rose when she was at risk of burning out far too early. But until then, and in the interest of keeping his head firmly on his shoulders where it belonged, he resolved to keep an eye on Scorpius. 

Scorpius laughed brightly, silver sparks sailing through the air as he flung his paintbrush about wildly. There was green paint in his hair. 

Yeah, keeping an eye on Scorpius was going to be a _real_ hardship.

* * *

It was much easier to keep an eye on someone when they were in your line of sight. That was a known fact, passed down through the ages, and one that Albus was having trouble with. 

As the weeks drifted by, rehearsals grew in number. The set lay in deconstructed pieces across the entire theatre, which was splattered with paint and bits of costume that hadn’t quite come to fruition yet. The chairs that Albus had carefully laid out to give the appearance of an audience were strewn here and there. Rose walked among it all, doling out proud smiles interspersed with barked commands, and Albus reassured the performers left shaking in her absence. 

But one particular performer was hard to reassure, on account of him never being on time. 

“Sorry, that problem came up again,” Scorpius said, darting past Albus with an armful of shining gold hoops. He assumed they were for the Pygmy Puff act, but he didn't know why Scorpius had them. 

Albus aimed a pointed look at the hoops, and then at Scorpius’s shirt, which was all rumpled from running. “Did the problem involve belly-dancing?”

Scorpius tried to seize the bottom of his shirt with the arm decorated with hoops. When they scattered to the floor, he swore and dropped to his knees, and the world seemed to slow down. All Albus could see was bright hair and the slow curve of his back. Albus jerked back in surprise, his thoughts taking an inappropriate turn, before he followed Scorpius swiftly to the floor. His brain had been betraying him like that a lot recently. 

“Sorry,” Scorpius said, scrambling for a hoop while he aimed a disarming smile at Albus, before narrowing his eyes. “Are you feeling well? You’ve gone all pink.”

“Fine.” Albus took a deep breath and sat back on his haunches. People must have been watching them from the stage, though nobody came down to confront them about why they were kneeling on the ground when they _could be working, Albus, there’s still so much to do!_

Scorpius peered at him curiously. Being on eye-level with him was nice—Albus had always been the short one in the family, and teased like hell for it, until finally he _shot_ up like nobody’s business at the end of school. James had nearly wept. He wasn’t obnoxiously tall, but he was definitely taller than Scorpius. 

“It’s the Weasley in you,” mum had said, looking up at his grinning face in distaste. “You get it from your disgusting uncles. I swear to Merlin, if you pick me up—”

“I forgot to mention that it wasn’t belly-dancing, but I’ve always wanted to take a class. It looks like you’d need a lot of core muscles though, and I have a grand total of zero.”

Snorting, Albus pulled out his wand and sent the hoops whizzing off to the prop box. They got to their feet and started brushing off their dirt, and Albus offered, “I’m sure you have one core muscle, at least.”

Scorpius shrugged magnanimously. “Well then I think it’s won the worlds’ longest game of hide and seek.”

Laughing, Albus shook his head. He decided not to bring up the lateness again, steering Scorpius towards the stage instead. And he didn't bring it up the next time, or the next. It was stupid, but every time they touched on the subject, or Scorpius caught his eye as he slunk through the doors, there was something that stopped Albus. A look in his eye, or a slight tremble to his mouth. 

Albus didn't know what the problem was, exactly, but he was content to pretend it was belly-dancing if it meant Scorpius wouldn’t look at him like that. 

But Rose wasn’t content. And Albus couldn’t even be mad at her, since this was her job, but he still felt like building a large brick wall between Scorpius and the stage when she stormed up to him one morning. 

“Malfoy. You’re late again.”

Scorpius froze, deer-like. Connor edged out of range, weilding a paint pot lid like a shield. They were finishing the last of the set today, and Scorpius had sprinted in twenty-five minutes late and mumbling breathless apologies. It had earned him quite a few harsh, bitter looks from the other performers.

Again, Albus couldn’t quite blame them. Nobody else had been late since they started rehearsals, but Scorpius was barely ever here on time. Sure, he threw himself into the work once he arrived, but sometimes that wasn’t until close to the end of rehearsals, and he never had an explanation. Albus had overheard one or two bitter remarks about how he was doing it for show, for what he might gain. He didn't believe it. But he could still see why they might. 

“Care to explain?” Rose asked, in a way that made it clear she wasn’t really asking. 

Scorpius _looked at Albus._ His eyes darted here and there before landing on Albus and staying there, and Albus did a double-take. He’d never been looked at like he was the only answer before, and it struck him as odd. He glanced at Rose, and then at the door on the far end of the stage, where the piano was hidden. 

“He won’t be late again,” Albus said. 

Rose made an irritable sound, gesturing everyone away as she drew closer. “We’re halfway through our rehearsal time and I don't even know what you sound like. You’re not taking this seriously, Malfoy, and I’m not sure it’s worth the wait.”

“It is,” Albus promised, ignoring the glare that got thrown his way. “How about a demonstration? The set’s almost finished, and you’ve been working on the individual acts, but maybe you should think about having Scorpius as a sandwich kinda thing. He can be the bread, you know?”

Rose cast her eyes to the ceiling, and someone behind her snickered. It was Sharon, the witch who was an excellent dancer and superbly snobbish, Albus realised as he glared over Rose’s shoulder. 

“The bread,” Rose repeated, her tone as dry as toast. 

Scorpius was beginning to look like he was regretting looking at Albus. 

_Too late, Malfoy,_ Albus thought, with no small amount of satisfaction. 

“The bread,” Albus confirmed. He was trying not to grin, but it wasn’t working. “You know, have him appear on stage and start off the First Act with a piano piece, then thread the music through the rest of the performance, and have him end it with the same piece, or a different one, whatever.” Albus shrugged. “You said you wanted something to connect it all, right?”

Rose had. She’d arrived at Albus’s flat a few evenings ago with three bottles of Cava in her purse and a flask of mead underneath them. He doubted Hermione ever expected her Undetectable Extension Charm would ever be used in such a manner, especially not by her dutiful daughter, or she wouldn’t have passed down that little nugget of knowledge. Thoroughly drunk and spread-eagled on Albus’s mismatched rug, Rose had accidentally complimented his messy decor before bursting into tears over her performance. 

“It’s shit,” Rose had said, through endless tears, while Albus plied her with tissues and staved off his own panic. “It’s all shit. It’s like a big fucking talent show with a really morbid theme. Christ, it’s so shit, Albus. There’s nothing—nothing there! None of it adds up or even makes sense, it’s all just a bunch of idiots on a stage being really good at random shit.”

All the willpower in the world could not have stopped Albus from downing a wineglass of mead and joining her morosely on the rug, where he muttered unhappily about how Scorpius kept watching Rose instead of him. 

“He watches me out of fear,” she had declared, hiccuping. “He watches you when you’re not looking because he likes your arse. And your face, I guess. Also he nearly cries whenever you laugh, like he’s so grateful you exist or something, it’s disgusting, so there’s that.”

Albus didn't remember much after that. Well, that wasn’t quite true. He remembered the mead. 

“I did say that, didn't I?” Rose said, zeroing in on Albus as her brain clearly unkindly reminded her of the very same night. “That might work, actually.”

Scorpius held his breath. It was an audible thing, a careful stilling of every noise in his body that sounded like a meteor crashing to earth. Like theatre doors bursting open. 

“But first I have to hear you play,” Rose said. 

“What do I play?” Scorpius hissed, as Albus dragged him into the tiny room where the piano stood. Scorpius stared at it like it was a guillotine, and Albus held the rope. 

“I have no idea,” Albus said, shrugging. Secretly his heart was going a mile a minute, but he didn't let it show; Scorpius was already nervous as hell. “What’s your favourite piece?”

Scorpius looked horrified. “You don't just ask a musician that, not when there’s only a few minutes to spare.”

“Snob,” Albus accused, grinning. 

Rolling his eyes, Scorpius moved to help him with the piano. They’d spent an afternoon in here the other day, finally working out what sort of sound Scorpius liked from his piano while Albus fiddled about with hammers. Tuning a piano was a work of art in itself, and he was always terrified it was going to go wrong. In the beginning, he’d barely touched one. He’d worked with strips of felt and shadowed a man much older than him who looked grumpy every time Albus asked a question, and then he’d dogged the footsteps of a perky lady who answered questions he hadn’t even thought of yet, and then he’d finally tuned a piano. 

Now he was pretty confident. But that didn't mean he wasn’t afraid of getting it wrong all the time. He really, really hoped, as they wheeled out the piano carefully, that he’d got it right. For Scorpius’s sake. 

“Alright,” Rose said, striding towards them as Scorpius arranged the stool. “Wow me, Malfoy.”

The rest of the theatre had come to a standstill. A few of the performers wandered up from the aisles, holding their scripts, and even a lonesome Pygmy Puff watched the proceedings from on top of the speaker. Albus flicked his wand out of his sleeve and traced a shape in the air, almost absently. 

Music had been around longer than magic had been, and there were ways, now, to capture it. His magic began recording as Scorpius breathed deeply.

He smiled nervously at the gathering of people and sat in his stool. The minute his hands touched the lid, lifting it gently and purposefully, he relaxed. Albus grinned, offering him a subtle thumbs-up, and settled back to watch the lightshow. 

Notes dug into the air. They hovered nervously, trembling. Albus felt them tug at his heart again, as Scorpius pressed them into being. It was honey on wood again, the sounds of a holy place—and the colours _rippled,_ almost, like curved sea glass dropped in a still pond. Albus stayed quiet as sparks and quivering lines of colour sprinted across the room. 

He didn't know the song, but when Scorpius played it, he felt like he had always known it. 

The song drifted into nothing. Rose had her arms folded across her chest, one foot jutting out. She had stopped tapping it. Her eyes, when Albus peered closer, looked begrudgingly impressed. He saw it mirrored in Sophie and Kyle and Emmelina, although Connor just looked vaguely smug. 

Scorpius stood up slowly. He held both his palms out over the top of the piano and said, “Verdict?”

Rose tipped her head to the side. “Don't be late again.”

Albus scowled as Scorpius grew tense, his shoulders drawing up around his ears. Nervous glances fluttered about the theatre. 

Then Rose smiled, a small thing that was laced with victory. “With music like that, I don't want to waste a single second in silence.”

The curtains billowed with the weight of their relieved sighs. Scorpius sagged, landing with a bump on his piano stool, as Rose strutted off. The others began to disperse, some grumbling. A few offered Scorpius back-slaps as they passed, and Connor stopped to high-five him, before solemnly proclaiming him their hero. 

“You made Rose Granger-Weasley smile,” Connor said, nodding with his hands in the air, like he’d just _crushed_ it at a gig somewhere and was feeling humbled, but grateful. Albus rolled his eyes. 

Scorpius smiled rather weakly. “I did.”

“That’s gotta go in a book somewhere.” 

Albus waited while they finished talking. He liked Connor, but the guy was overly friendly and said ‘dude’ a lot, so it was a like that stretched to the breaking point as the minutes drew on. When he finally departed, snagging his guitar en route, Albus moved to lean against the piano. 

“He’s going to write an ode to your magnificence,” Albus warned him, propping his chin up on his elbow. The lid of the piano was still bustling with the remains of music, and he could feel it pulsing gently through his skin. 

“Oh God,” Scorpius said, dropping his head in his hands with a helpless laugh. “As long as it’s not a ballad, I think I’ll cope.”

“Listen to that,” Albus drawled. “He impressed one audience and suddenly he wants songs to his name. What’s next, your own statue?”

“Oh, shut up,” Scorpius muttered into his hands, still laughing. 

“Fame really has changed you.”

Scorpius emerged from his hands to meet Albus’s grin. He was flustered and glowering, but there was so much brightness in his eyes that it just made Albus fonder. 

“Is it weird to be proud of you?” Albus mused. “Because we’re the same age and I haven’t known you for very long, so it’s probably weird. But I’m still proud.”

Scorpius’s hands fell into his lap. “You are?

“Yeah. A bit, I mean. I don't feel like that’s something you do often, you know? Going on stage, putting yourself out there. Not everyone could do it.” Albus came to a decision. “Yeah, I’m proud.” 

“Oh.”

The soft, startled tone was so reminiscent of that first night that Albus felt a tug at his heart. He folded his arms on top of the piano and leant down to put his chin on them, smiling at Scorpius. He looked thrown, blinking widely, an almost rueful tilt to his mouth. As though he hadn’t expected this, or even dared to hope for it; as if nobody had said they were proud in a long time. 

Albus wondered if he was uncomfortable. He spoke mostly into the fabric of his sleeve when he said, with a faux-thoughtfulness, “Unless being proud of you is too weird, in which case I’ve never been more ashamed of a person in my life, Scorpius Malfoy.”

Scorpius dropped his head back into his hands with another desperate sort of laugh and said, “Oh my Merlin. I’ll take the pride, please.”


	4. Chapter 4

Tearooms could be defined in several ways—one definition being a small cafe that served tea and light refreshments, and another being a public toilet where gay folk gathered—but Albus liked his definition best: a small nook where one could sip tea, escape the rain, and avoid the wrath of one Rose Granger-Weasley. 

The lock clicked open easily under his touch. Opening the door revealed a cramped space, where the creaky floorboards were accustomed to only one pair of tattered boots. Albus lit the lanterns on the wall, humming to himself, trailing a wet Scorpius Malfoy and a veritable river of rainwater behind him.

“Sit down while I put the kettle on,” Albus said, feeling uncomfortably like his Grandma as he gestured at the kitchenette crammed into the corner, where the kettle in question had perked up considerably upon their entry. 

This particular tearoom was on the upper floor of The Swiggin’ Pig, opposite the reading room, and it might not have been much bigger than a storage cupboard, but Albus had still managed to shove two striped armchairs near the window. Grandma Weasley had upholstered them during her appraisal of the theatre, and they still smelled like the Burrow; flowery and a bit like damp soil, but not in a nose-wrinkling way. She’d also filled the cabinet above the kettle with cans of soup, teacakes, and packets of biscuits, and the stock replenished itself every few weeks. It was no wonder Albus hardly spent any time at his own flat. 

When Scorpius didn’t move, Albus slid the latch into place on the door, cutting off the sounds of the rehearsal packing up downstairs, and kept a careful grip on Scorpius’s sleeve. Scorpius had arrived with five minutes to spare before the end of rehearsal, and Rose had taken one look at his drenched, dazed exterior and shoved him towards Albus. 

“Fix this,” Rose had said, with a steely look in her eye. But beneath that had been worry, and the worry had taken root inside Albus too, so he had every intention of doing so. 

Nobody would bother them until it was time to lock up, and Rose could usually be persuaded to steer clear of the tearoom. Especially when it was occupied by glassy-eyed, drenched Malfoy’s in their Sunday best. 

“Sitting, I can do that.” Scorpius glanced down at his soaked outfit, seemingly baffled as to how it got that way. “I don’t suppose you have a towel up here, do you?”

Albus let go of Scorpius’s sleeve and untucked his wand from behind his ear. A swift series of flicks and complicated gestures, and Scorpius’s clothes were steaming as they dried. Another series of flicks infused the fabric with a soft, clean scent. 

“There,” Albus said, with a satisfied nod. “No towels, but hopefully that’s better.” 

“Much better.” Scorpius smiled at him, but it lacked his usual silvery brightness. He was wan and drooping, as though the rain had sunk through his clothes and into his skin, weighing down his bones like sodden paper. The smile wavered for a moment before snapping like an elastic band. 

In Hogwarts, in that period of his life where he was still working out what to do with his suddenly-gangly limbs, in that time where emotions were great big looming things not unlike thunderclouds, Albus had never known what to say. Lily would come to him, sometimes, tired of the daily performance that entertaining her army of friends required, and all Albus could offer her was a pat on the shoulder. Talking to his dad about the weather had been hard, let alone about anything important. He'd spent most of his teenage years feeling awkward and unsure in his skin, unable to fathom all the things lurking beneath it, and it showed in his sharp tongue. 

“D’you, uh, want tea or coffee?” 

Apparently, not all of that awkwardness had finished tormenting him. 

Scorpius flopped into the armchair without prompting and sighed very deeply. “Coffee, please. With an entire boatload of sugar, if possible.” 

Coffee it was. The kettle shook with glee as he made two cups, bringing the sugar pot over to the table rather than attempting to figure out the numerical value of a ‘boatload.’ His mug was a little loose around the handle, and Scorpius’s cup had a cartoon of a headless chicken on the side. There was some pithy phrase beside it, but the words had scrubbed off with too many vigorous Scourgify’s. 

“Rose probably won't bother coming up here, and there's not much left of today’s rehearsal, so you're free to stay here as long as you like before you go home.” Albus unhooked one of his shoes so he could tuck his foot beneath his thigh, relaxing in the flowery cushions. 

“Is this the part where you tell me not to bother coming back?” 

The rain drummed an unsteady beat against the window. It matched the rhythm of his fingertips as Albus tapped them thoughtfully against his thigh, where his mug rested. 

Albus said, “There’s sugar there, if you want it. I didn't know what a boatload looked like, though I’m picturing one of those cargo ships, you know? The ones that smuggle in baby Acromantulas.” 

He watched Scorpius swallow around a tight throat.

“Yes. Thanks. Fuck, I’m so sorry, Albus.”

The first time Scorpius swore in front of him, Albus almost had a heart attack. The way his mouth wrapped around the sharp word was sinful enough, but the spike of colour was honestly mesmerising. It didn't look quite right, for someone that small and generally bright-eyed to swear like a sailor, but Scorpius was constantly surprising him. 

Now it wasn’t a shock, as much as it still mesmerised Albus. He didn't like to hear it coming before an apology, though. 

“Are you alright?”

Scorpius ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah. No. I mean, thank you for the coffee. I didn't say that earlier, did I? But thank you.”

“It’s only been two minutes,” Albus said, rolling his eyes. “You don't have to say thank you and sorry all the time. It’s like you’re apologising just for existing.”

Scorpius grimaced. “Ha.”

“Scorpius, seriously. Do you—?”

But his concern didn't even make it all the way out of his mouth before he was being talked over. Scorpius wouldn’t look at him. He held his coffee like it was the only thing that kept him afloat, and he babbled, “Doesn’t it hurt, sitting like that? That would wreak havoc on your circulation system, wouldn’t it? Maybe I should find some studies, do some research. It must be hell on your toes.”

Albus wriggled his perfectly blood-filled toes beneath his thigh, and stared while he waited for Scorpius to stop talking. There was a rather desperate grin on his face, as though he was waiting for Albus to join in, but he was going to be waiting for a long time. The grin faded the longer the silence dragged on. 

“Sorry,” Scorpius said, sinking further into the cushions. 

“You’re doing it again. If you don't want to talk, I’m not going to make you.” Albus shrugged, raising his mug. “We’ll just drink our coffee and stare at the rain like sad old people.”

Scorpius hid a smile, but not very well. “I mean, I think it’s more of a middle-aged man thing. My dad does it when he wants to make a point about how mistreated he is in our family. Usually it’s because dad wants to read the newspaper, but mum’s busy doing the crossword, so he tells her all the answers really quickly so she’ll be done sooner and she gets cross. Then he gets put in time out.”

The image of Draco Malfoy sitting in the corner of the room with a scowl on his face burned itself into Albus’s brain. But another image leaped into view before he could do more than utter a small laugh. 

“You know, I think my dad does the same thing when he sits in his office after Hermione’s lectured him about something,” Albus said with growing horror. “I always thought it was mysterious and broody when I was younger, but I’ve literally realised just now that it’s just—”

“A sad old people thing?” Scorpius said, a proper grin creeping into view. 

Albus snickered into his mug. It was a relief when Scorpius joined him, the sad look in his eyes falling away to reveal something tired and content. The rain picked up ever so slightly, filling the room with feathers of white light. 

“Scorpius,” Albus said, after half a minute had passed. “Do you _want_ to be in this performance?”

Scorpius coughed a little into his coffee. He looked up, blinking widely, mouth tilted in surprise. “I wouldn’t have auditioned if I didn't want to be in it.”

“Yeah, but…”

“What?”

Albus hesitated, softening his voice. “Sometimes people do stuff because they feel like they have to, and they’re under pressure. You showed up hours late to the audition, and when I said I’d stick around for you, you spent most of that time not being sure about playing for me. It didn't really seem like you wanted to get the part.” 

“So, what?” Scorpius eyed him wearily. “You’re saying… ?”

“It’s a big show.” Albus shrugged one shoulder carefully. “A memorial show, for the people who died in the Battle of Hogwarts.”

“And my father fought in that war. But not on the right side, yes?” Scorpius met Albus’s gaze squarely before he lowered his eyes, playing with the handle of his mug. He bit his bottom lip. A strand of hair fell over his eyes. Albus had never known that tension could feel like a thick starchy blanket, far too heavy and all around you. 

Softly, with a faint frown, Scorpius said, “We left England for good pretty soon after I was born, to keep me safe. Dad always tells me that we left because it was better for work, and there were better connections outside of England, but I know it was because of me. Nobody was very forgiving then. I don't think it would have mattered that I was a kid, or that I hadn’t done anything. He wanted to keep me safe, keep our family safe, and we only came back when—when we had to.”

Albus furrowed his brow; loathe as he was to interrupt, he still didn't actually know why the Malfoy family had come back, and that wasn’t an answer. Not really. But it was, at the same time, because that look was back in Scorpius’s eyes, the desperate one. The one that looked an awful lot like grief. 

“But people aren’t exactly welcoming, no matter how many years are between then and now, no matter how good my father is now.” Scorpius’s fingers tightened on the mug. “And he _is_ good. He’s an idiot, and snobby sometimes, but so am I. And he’s kind even if he won’t admit it. He’s tried to be better.” 

“I believe you,” Albus blurted out. He wasn’t sure if Scorpius could even hear him right now, as deep in his own head he was, but he didn't like the pleading note in his voice. 

Scorpius shook his head. “So to show up to something as important and publicised as this memorial show might help. It might put me in everyone’s good books, it might pave the way. Start the ball rolling where forgiveness is concerned. It might prove that we’re serious about this, that we’ve changed. Why _wouldn’t_ I want to get the part?”

“Because of all those reasons.” Albus stared at him. “Because it sounds fucking terrifying. And hard. Because people will see it, see you up there.” He softened his voice. “And they might not like it.”

Scorpius’s smile was a tremulous thing. “People don't like much, where I’m concerned. I’ve learned not to let that stop me.” 

Albus couldn’t even touch that if he wanted to keep his temper. He didn’t know how someone could meet Scorpius, properly meet him, and not like him. 

“I just wondered if you were hoping not to get the part,” Albus pressed. “It’s out of your hands then, right? You seemed happy when I told you to show up for practice, but then you were late, and late again.”

“I know.” 

Albus could feel himself getting worked up, so he set his coffee down. “You’ve been late every single time. We’ve had so many rehearsals since that first one, and I can barely get you near a piano again. Even after Rose said you were good, and things calmed down with the other performers. You’ve been late almost every _single_ time, Scorpius, and this time you missed the whole thing, and if it’s because you don't want to be in this show, you have to tell me now.”

Scorpius looked up, swallowing hard. Albus tried to make his voice gentle. 

“There’s no shame in deciding not to take part, but I can’t help you if I don't know what you need.”

“I want to do it.” 

Even with his shoulders squared and his chin pointed, Scorpius didn't look sure. Albus leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and raised his eyebrows. 

“I’m gonna need more than that, Scorpius.” 

“Ha. Yes, right.” Scorpius ran a hand through his hair, a rueful grin sliding into place. “I suppose I owe you that much, don't I? 

“You don't owe me anything,” Albus said quietly. “I just want to help. 

“Oh. Well. Thank you. I do owe you an explanation though. And it’s hard to talk about it, especially now. But my family, we came back because we had to. I might have said that?” Scorpius huffed out a breath, blowing his hair out of his eyes, and Albus wondered if he was staring up at the ceiling to keep the tears out of his eyes. “Grandma stayed in France, but she’s joining us soon. Dad didn't want to come back at all, but in the end, nothing could have kept him away. He left to keep his family safe, and he came back for his family. When—”

Albus waited, his heart sinking as he stared. Scorpius seemed to be trying to get a grip on himself, but whatever he was grasping at slid away like oil. His shoulders were already shaking. 

“It’s my mother, see. She’s—mum’s always been strong, but—I don't…”

“It’s alright.” The first threads of panic wove themselves through Albus’s hands, forcing them to flutter uselessly above his own knees, like that would help. “You don't have to say anything.”

But Scorpius just shook his head again. “There isn’t any other treatment, not that we know of. We’re still looking. But it’s genetic, and nobody knows enough about it. Father’s emptied his savings into clinical trials, but there’s no funding. And nobody will look for answers when the person asking is a Malfoy.”

Albus sucked in a quiet breath. He didn't understand all of it, not with the way Scorpius was babbling out broken bits of sentences, but he got the gist. And he’d have loved to return the gist and pick out something kinder, but sadly that didn't seem to be an option. 

Scorpius offered him a too-big, too-fake smile and said, “I’m going to put my head in my hands now. Don't be alarmed, please, and feel free to leave if you like. Or kick me out, since this is your tearoom. It’s really nice, by the way.”

Scorpius put his head in his hands, still muttering. Albus felt his heart give out and then in, much like a gate battered by strong winds. While it swung freely about the place, dithering between comfort and panic, Albus gathered up their cups and a few wrappers he’d missed the other night, and retreated to the kitchenette to give Scorpius space. He could hear Scorpius taking deep breaths as he put the kettle on again. 

Fuck space, Albus thought suddenly. Nobody really wanted space when they were like this. They wanted an answer, and Albus didn't have one, but he had something different. 

He turned and crossed the room, losing his other shoe on the way so he wasn’t hobbling about like a goat. When he reached Scorpius, he knelt down in front of him, and stared at the hands still pillowing his head. 

“D’you want a hug?” Albus asked. 

Scorpius made a small sound in his throat. His voice was muffled. “Do we do that? Are we there yet?”

Albus rose up on his knees and fit his arms around Scorpius’s shoulders. He slid his hands tentatively around his back and held on tightly, listening to the rain batter the windows. Scorpius sunk into him, tucking his face into the dip of Albus’s neck, and his shaking hands wrapped just as tentatively around him. And then it was like pieces clicking together, cogs fitting into place in a machine that made everything better. Albus hugged him tightly, and Scorpius hugged him back. 

“We do now.”


	5. Chapter 5

Albus hated the sound of hospitals. Sometimes it was the sound of people healing and that manifested in cold bursts of colour, but sometimes it was a steady thickness at the bottom of his gaze, a sickly yellow. That was the sound of people holding on. 

He shifted in the chair, conscious of the receptionists gaze on him. She’d been shrewd at first, when he said he was waiting for someone, and then a little shocked when she recognised him. Now she wouldn’t stop staring, but Albus had a feeling it wasn’t out of awe. She was just extremely suspicious of the fairly well-known man sat in her waiting room with no real reason to be there. 

“Excuse me,” she finally said, standing, before shutting her mouth as the door slid open. 

Scorpius trudged through. He was holding a letter and grasping the strap of his bag, and he barely looked up as he made his way to the front desk. 

“Hi, Ellen,” Scorpius said. “I’m here to see—”

“One moment, hun,” Ellen interrupted him, glaring at Albus. “Excuse me, Mr Potter, but without a genuine reason for visiting, then I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Albus stood awkwardly, holding a bunch of flowers he had picked from the Lovegood garden rather limply. 

Scorpius had gone stiff at the sound of his name, and now he turned to fix Albus with an incredulous stare. Albus was beginning to regret his idea now. It was a bit creepy, wasn’t it, to lie in wait for Scorpius even though he hadn’t been invited, and this wasn’t a normal, casual place to wait either, what the—

“Albus,” Scorpius breathed. “You’re here?”

Albus waved the flowers awkwardly. “Apparently so. I thought—after what you said the other day, I figured you’d be here, and I thought you might want a friend.”

Ellen watched their conversation with unabashed shock. Then she schooled her expression and said, “Only two people at a time, and I believe the original request was for just family to attend.”

Scorpius wheeled back round to face her, mouth set in defiance, but he deflated rather quickly. He nodded, and leaned down to sign something with a quill before joining Albus in the waiting area. A steady beep echoed down the hall, but the place was quiet. 

“Sorry,” Scorpius said, before crinkling his nose. “I don't know why I’m apologising.”

Albus chuckled. “Neither do I. You didn't know I was going to be here.”

“How _did_ you know?”

“I figured there was a reason you kept being late to rehearsal,” Albus said slowly. “You said about your mum, which sort of explained it, but I guessed it had something to do with visiting hours? I told Rose we were gonna be working on which piece you’ll use in the show, and that I’d run the options by her later, so neither of us would be there today. And then I waited here.” Albus held up his flowers again, sheepishly. “Like a creep.”

“Not a creep,” Scorpius said, shaking his head. “Definitely not a creep. And clever, too. Dad comes in the evening because he has work in the mornings, but I don’t like to leave her without a visitor. I’m sorry you can’t come in with me.”

“That’s okay,” Albus said mildly, as though he didn’t want to climb in Scorpius’s pocket and make sure he was okay in there. “Take your time. I’ll be here, waiting, if you want me to.”

Scorpius did want, it seemed, even though he simply stared at first. He smiled slowly and wandered off down the hall, only to come jogging back to take the flowers, flustered. Albus’s quiet laughter rang throughout the room, drowning out the beep. He thought he saw Ellen give him an approving nod as he sat down to wait, ignoring the sickly yellow in favour of the remnants of silver that still hung in the air.

* * *

Outside, London was packed, and the cold air slapped them in the face. Albus wrapped his coat tighter around his body, wishing he’d brought a scarf. It had rained all morning, and though there was a brief reprieve now, the sky looked dingy and menacingly grey. 

“Lunch?” Albus asked, elbowing Scorpius out of his thoughts. 

“I thought we had a song to pick,” Scorpius said. He looked tired, but he seemed to perk up when Albus grinned mischievously. 

“No reason why we can’t do both.”

They avoided Diagon Alley. Albus loved magic, and he loved the Wizarding World, but there were only so many smoking, stuttering sandwiches he could eat before he began to crave the normalcy of food that stayed where you put it. Not to mention, he wasn’t sure how welcome Scorpius would be. He’d have happily fought everyone who looked at Scorpius wrong, but it had been a rough morning. Scorpius deserved a coffee and a boatload of sugar, judgement-free. 

“James showed me this place a while ago,” Albus said, drawing Scorpius through the doors of a cafe. “They do really nice smoothies, and loads of vegan shit.”

At the till, Albus fumbled with the Muggle money until Scorpius smoothly took over. Albus still couldn’t get used to little pound coins and tiny five pence pieces, and he had no idea what was up with the notes. But Scorpius was at ease, chatting to the guy drawing leaves in their foamy coffee, and he didn't drop the change once. Albus selected a panini and watched, not bothering to hide his somewhat dopey smiles. 

“So technically you paid, even though it was my money,” Albus said, when they commandeered a table near the window. A big plant brushed against his head as he sat, wrangling his arms out of his coat, and Scorpius laughed at him when he batted the branch away with a scowl. 

“I told you, I do know some Muggle things,” Scorpius said. “More than you, anyway.”

“Ha. Eat your sandwich.”

Snorting, Scorpius tucked into his food. Albus destroyed his foam leaf with one vengeful stir and told the story of James and the Giant Pear, a hilarious account of James’s idiocy one summer than always seemed to get laughs. 

“Dad had to get it out,” Albus said cheerfully, watching Scorpius almost choke on his drink, tears of laughter streaming down his face. “They couldn’t look each other in the eye for a solid month.”

“I think I’d move out if I was your brother,” Scorpius said, passing a hand over his face, shoulders still shaking. “God, could you imagine?”

“I don't need to. I was there.”

Scorpius grinned at him. “You poor baby.”

Albus pointed his spoon at him. “You don't get to sass me, Malfoy. I paid for your coffee.”

“Technically, _I_ paid.”

Albus liked this version of Scorpius Malfoy. He liked all the versions he’d seen before, even the unbearably sad versions, but there was something delightful about the raw happiness in his eyes, the way his mouth turned down slyly when he came back with a smart remark. It was nice, seeing him relax against the seat and munch on his sandwich, discarding the slice of pickle with a disgusted flick of his wrist. All of it bubbled up in Albus until he was grinning into his coffee, unable to stop. 

In a quiet moment, Albus said, “How was she?”

“Sleeping,” Scorpius said immediately, like he’d been waiting for him to ask. “I read her Daphne’s letter. She’s my aunt, mum’s sister. She’d be here, but she’s stuck on some island somewhere in the middle of a mission.”

“Auror?”

Scorpius shook his head. “Curse-Breaker. She works with some secret part of Gringotts that’s focused on giving back stolen artefacts. I’m not technically supposed to talk about it, so…”

Albus mimed zipping his lips, throwing away the key, and Scorpius chuckled fondly. 

“Nerd,” Scorpius accused, and then hastened to carry on before Albus could make several similar accusations. “She writes letters when she’s not here, and she wanted me to read them to mum when they arrived. I know mum was asleep, but I like to think she can hear me anyway. And I can read it again later.”

“I’ve messaged Rose,” Albus told him, picking apart his panini. “She’s moving the rehearsals to a later time, since we’re so close to dress rehearsals, and practicing at Hogwarts. They take place in the afternoon now.”

He’d sent the Owl in the waiting room, and he’d not had a reply yet, but he knew Rose wouldn’t say no. 

“I didn't say anything specific,” Albus added, when silence greeted his announcement. “Just framed it as a favour, since I didn’t know if you’d want people to know.” 

“Albus,” Scorpius said, sounding almost lost. 

“I told you I wanted to help.”

Scorpius slid his hand across the table and caught Albus’s. Albus’s head shot up, and he stared as Scorpius’s cheeks went pink. 

“Thank you,” Scorpius said. He squeezed their hands and kept holding on, long after Albus thought he would have let go. Not that he minded. 

“Not a problem,” Albus said, aware that his ears were growing red and hot under Scorpius’s fond gaze, and it only got worse when Scorpius started laughing at him. “Shut up. Eat your sandwich, and pick a song for the show.”

Half an hour and a thousand rejected piano pieces later, they both left the cafe, much to the relief of the bearded guy behind the counter, who kept eyeing their empty coffee cups resentfully. Albus left a very big tip and followed Scorpius out into the rain. 

“Bloody hell,” Albus muttered, trying to get his hood up. It was caught down the back of his collar, and he grimaced as the mizzle soaked him. It wasn’t proper rain, but he was still wet in seconds. 

“Here.” Scorpius had to lean up to get his hood free, and then he leaned down again as he brought it over Albus’s forehead, covering his eyes with a carefree laugh. Albus batted him away, then pulled him out of the path of a gaggle of kids, splashing past with shrieks of laughter. 

Under the awning, Scorpius grinned up at him. He was very close, tucked under Albus’s arm, which hung awkwardly over his shoulders, and he was warm. Even his hair smelled like coffee. Albus tried very hard not to be creepy, but he couldn’t help but shuffle closer. 

“Walk you home?” Albus offered. 

“To Wiltshire?” Scorpius looked delighted when Albus groaned. “I didn't know you were into hiking, Albus. You might need better boots though.”

Albus stared up at the sky, willing the embarrassment away. “You’re a smug bastard, you know.”

“I really am. Thank you for today, Albus.” Scorpius leaned up and planted a kiss on Albus’s cheek before withdrawing, sliding out from under his arm and the awning. “I’ll have a song by next rehearsal. Thanks for letting me pay for lunch, by the way, we should definitely do it again sometime.”

“You’re a terrible person,” Albus said, one hand pressed to his cheek. 

Scorpius kept laughing, and Albus could see it shining in the rain even after they’d both Disapparated.


	6. Chapter 6

Hiding wasn’t a word in Albus’s dictionary. It just wasn’t. Potters didn't hide, and neither did Weasleys, and therefore Albus doubly wasn’t allowed to hide. He would have to pay twice if anyone caught him hiding behind a curtain on the half-built set in Hogwarts courtyard. 

Which was why he wasn’t hiding. He was retreating strategically. 

“Albus,” Connor whispered, from the other side of the curtain. “Here’s that drink you wanted.”

Albus poked his head out and took it, only to wince when he caught sight of Rose in the distance. She spotted him instantly, like a hawk narrowing in on her prey, and her steps quickened. Connor grew very pale all of a sudden. 

“Save yourself,” Albus muttered. “Go and polish something.”

Connor sped off just as Rose reached them. Albus resigned himself to coming out from behind his curtain, drinking his eta like it was his last meal. Connor had added way too much sugar, but it was hot and untouched by the cold, wet rain outside, so he was grateful for it. 

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Rose snapped. 

“That’s really weird,” Albus said solemnly. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you too. We must have been going in opposite directions. Isn’t that weird?”

“It’s weird you think you’ll make it out of this alive,” Rose said sweetly. 

Above them, the thunder rumbled. Albus grimaced as pounding rain hit the tin roof they’d hastily thrown up over the stage. 

“Fuck,” Rose said, with feeling. “Fuck, the marquee isn’t going to go up at all, let alone stay up!”

“We have weather charms,” Albus soothed her. “We have weather charms, and drying charms, and the set is nearly up. Everyone will be a bit cold, and a bit wet, but once they’re inside the bubble, it’ll be fine. Magic solves everything.”

“Can it solve the case of the missing pianist?” Rose said icily. 

Albus lowered his flask, confused. “You mean Scorpius? He was here earlier. I saw him calming the Pygmy Puffs down.”

“Well he’s not here now, and the show starts soon. People are already turning up, and he’s the first act, Albus. He’s the first fucking thing people see when the spotlight turns on, and if he’s not here, I’m going to feed you to the Giant Squid.” Rose squinted at him, her scowl prominent. “Very, very slowly. 

Albus thrust his flask of tea at her and darted in to kiss her forehead. “Drink this. Calm down. Stop threatening the people you want to help you, and point me in the right direction. If he’s not here in ten minutes, I’ll Accio him or something, okay?”

Rose took a large gulp and grimaced. Then she pointed him in several thousand directions at once and spouted off a bunch of orders. Albus made sure to hug her briefly before he was thrown into the fray, muttering reassurances in her ear, and then he got to work. 

The wind picked up, howling, as they tightened the ropes on the marquee. Albus spat out a mouthful of someone else’s hair more than once. He was soaked to the bone by the time the marquee was in place, and stepping underneath it was heaven. Warmth rushed over him, drying his clothes and leaving him more than a little crinkled. He shook out his steaming hair and stepped over a fallen chair, waving his wand at the ground. 

Soft rugs unrolled from a pile near the prop box and set about covering the damp stone. Puddles were soaked up, and the chairs righted themselves. Connor ran past, feathers in his hair, and began fastening cushions to each chair. There were beanbags and pillows near the front for people to sit on, and Sharon was conducting a symphony of silver spirals to hang from the ceiling. 

Rose was in the middle of the partially-constructed stage, her wand moving like a blur. Props and instruments revolved around her. Albus took a minute to stare proudly as she built her stage, before he began to hunt through the crowd of performers. 

But Scorpius wasn’t there. There was no white-blond hair or silver laugh, no eager-to-please expression or helpful hands. The Pygmy Puffs were warm and comfortable in their crates, but there was no sign of Scorpius. 

“Have you seen him?” Albus asked, snagging Connor by the shoulder as he ran by with a pile of cushions. 

“Not since the piano came out of the truck.” Connor bounced on the balls of his feet. “He looked shit-scared though.”

Albus let him go, absently scanning the marquee. But he had a feeling he wouldn’t find Scorpius here, where it was warm and dry. He turned and faced the miserable scene outside and sighed. 

“Couldn’t have made it easy, could you,” Albus muttered, before barreling out into the rain. 

The doors to the Entrance Hall were flung wide open, bright light spilling out onto the wet stone steps. He could hear warm laughter, and the deep purple sound of gathered crowds mingled with the rain. Scorpius wouldn’t be there, where everyone was waiting to move out into the courtyard once the stage was finished. He would have picked somewhere quieter. 

Albus summoned a translucent umbrella aloft, but with this much rain it was mostly pointless, and he needed the wandlight to see. So he ducked into the passageway that ran around the courtyard and pointed his wand at the grounds. It was dark and the grass melted away beneath his hasty footsteps, revealing thick slippery mud that splattered his trousers. He walked for five minutes, and he was about to turn back with a curse when he spotted something. 

At first he thought it was a castle ghost, shimmering in the rain. He squinted, hoping, and set off towards it. Sure enough, near a circle of stones at the top of the hill, there was a white-blonde head and the faint sound of piano keys.

Albus pocketed his wand and slumped through the mud, rain dripping down his face. 

“I just don't know,” Scorpius was muttering to himself. He had his head in his hands again, sitting on the top of the mossy stone steps that lead down to Hagrid’s hut. When Albus drew close enough, the rain and wind fell away, and he stood in a puddle of quiet charmwork. 

Shaking his head and spraying water everywhere, Albus said, “Don't know what? How to catch a cold? Wouldn’t be too sure about that.”

Scorpius jerked wildly, his arse slipping off the mossy steps. He gave a quiet ‘oh’ of surprise as he landed with a thump on the sodden ground, staring up at Albus. The piano music had faded.

“If you wanted to sit and brood in the rain, you could have at least let me know that you weren’t dead in a ditch somewhere. I would have let you have your sad moment without worrying.” Albus would have done no such thing, but Scorpius didn't have to know that. “Need help?”

Scorpius slid his hand into Albus’s soaked one, and grimaced as he was pulled up. 

“You’re going to get sick.” Scorpius concentrated, weaving a thread of blue spellwork around Albus’s shoulders. He felt it drift along his neck and up his jaw, where it coalesced around his face and tickled his sinuses. Albus sneezed, and the air lit up briefly blue. 

“What was that?” Albus rubbed his nose vigorously. 

Scorpius shrugged, sitting back down on the step. “Healing magic. I’ve been practicing lately. It should keep a cold at bay. It basically amplifies the effects of the mucus membrane—”

“No,” Albus said, sitting beside him suddenly. “Thanks, but I think I’m happier not knowing.”

Scorpius smiled at him slightly. “So you came looking for me?”

“Followed the sound of all that music,” Albus agreed. “You know the show doesn’t start until half past, right? Rose is going to flip when she realises you’ve been giving sneak previews, even if it is just to Hagrid.”

“He’s already gone inside. He almost stepped on me.”

“Yeah, he does that.”

Albus left him to his thoughts for a minute, before reaching for his hand. “Why _are_ you out here?”

Scorpius stared at their joined hands in surprise. He didn't pull away, but something about his expression made Albus uneasy. Maybe he’d overstepped? They hadn’t made anything official, although there had been a few moments that could have counted as romantic, plus a few more not-dates that Albus was definitely counting. He’d made Scorpius a bouquet out of sheet music and then stuffed it in a drawer before he could talk himself into it: that probably didn't count anywhere outside of Albus’s brain, but it was better than an empty list. 

“Sorry,” Albus said, edging his hand back until their fingers dislodged. “I didn't—sorry—”

Scorpius squeezed his hand tightly, stopping him in his tracks. “Now who’s apologising too much?” Raking his free hand through his hair, Scorpius sighed. “I just needed a minute. I went to visit mum again this morning. I wanted to tell her about this, about the show. But she’s been sleeping a lot more lately, so I wasn’t too surprised when she didn't wake up the whole time.”

“You can still be disappointed,” Albus said, tucking himself up closer and speaking softly. “I know she’s sick and it’s not her fault. But you can still be disappointed that you can’t share this stuff with her.”

Scorpius shook his head firmly. “I know, I know. But there’s—it really isn’t her fault. And she’d be here if she could, I know she would. It’s selfish, but I want her here.” Scorpius laughed rather hopelessly. “I was hoping she’d have a turnaround in the night, or there’d be some miracle that might let her come and see me tonight. She’s always around when I play the piano.”

“Did she teach you?”

Albus tried to picture it, a tiny Scorpius prodding piano keys while his mother laughed and guided him. He’d never met Astoria, but he had vague recollections of a dark-haired woman with laughter lines and dainty jewelry. He wondered if Scorpius would have laughter lines when he was older. He hoped he would be around to see them grow, to put them there. 

“No, oh Merlin,” Scorpius said, with a high laugh as he gripped Albus’s hand. The wind didn't touch them inside their bubble, but his hair was all over the place anywhere. “She can’t carry a tune and she broke the flute we found in our attic just trying to play it. Dad reckons it was eight hundred years old and belonged to some river God or something. Now it belongs to the bin.”

“Lucky bin.”

“Mmm.” The corners of Scorpius’s eyes crinkled. “She does dance though. Ballet, mostly. But she waltzes with Dad and me and sometimes Grandma. Grandma and Dad taught me to play the piano, and Dad hired tutors for when he couldn’t teach me, and I practiced every day. And she’d dance with me every day. Even if it was just a quick spin on the way to get our coats.” 

Albus wanted to do more than hold Scorpius’s hand, but there was only so much comfort he could give without bundling him up and taking him somewhere warm and safe. This wasn’t something Albus could fix with a thumbs-up and a boatload of sugar. He wasn’t sure that anyone could fix it, but he refused to sit there and not try. 

“She was always asking me to play a song,” Scorpius continued. “It doesn’t seem right to play for an audience if she’s not in it, dancing. If her and Dad argued, or she was sad, or she just wanted to listen... She’d ask me to play and then she’d dance, even if there wasn’t anyone else in the room. Then she’d make my music play itself, and she’d dance with me.”

“Play itself?” Albus quirked an eyebrow in question. 

“Like the recordings you did, in the theatre. Um,” Scorpius said, chewing his lip thoughtfully as he tried to remember the spell. 

Albus didn’t need to think. He knew that spell off by heart. 

“Like this?” Albus stood up, taking Scorpius with him, and traced a familiar shape in the air with his wand. It wasn’t a new recording, though Scorpius didn't know that yet. 

“Yes, exactly!” Scorpius grinned as the shape faded. “Then my music would play, and we would—”

Piano music filled the air. It echoed across the grounds in waves, curling around the stones that shielded them on all sides. It rippled through the grass. The wind scooped up each note and tossed it around joyously. 

“Dance?” Albus asked, holding out his hand. 

“That’s the song I played,” Scorpius said, sounding as though the words had been ripped from him. “In my audition. For you.”

“I liked it.” Albus could feel himself blushing harder the longer his hand stayed untouched, hovering in mid-air. “I used a pensieve to take the song out of my memory, and I kept it. That’s—probably creepy, again, sorry. But I really liked the song.”

“Not creepy at all.” Scorpius was practically a fire hydrant, his face on fire. “All other romance is ruined for me now.”

Albus was viciously pleased. “Good.”

But neither of them moved. The song kept playing, and Albus knew they only had a few minutes before it faded completely. Eventually, Albus lowered his hand and stepped a bit closer, until he was close enough for Scorpius to touch. 

“I wish your mum could have been here,” Albus said, meeting those pale eyes. “But Scorpius… it’s bad now, but that doesn’t mean it’ll always be bad. She—she might be okay. Don't give up just yet.”

Because Scorpius _had_ given up. He’d been talking about her like she was already gone, and Albus could tell it was hurting him. 

“If she was here, she’d kick me,” Scorpius said, swallowing back a laugh that escaped partly anyway. “For not dancing with you when you asked. Is it too late to take you up on that?” 

Albus’s heart skipped a beat. A grin threatened to break across his face, but he held it back. He peered up at the raging sky with a look of faux-concern. 

“I don't know. It looks like it might rain?”

Scorpius snorted; objectively, it was disgusting this close up, but Albus didn't care. When Scorpius dissolved into laughter, he really couldn’t care less about anything except dancing with this idiotic, lovely boy in the rain. 

This time, Scorpius beat him to it. He waved his wand, amplifying the music, and Albus took the hand that was held out to him with a staggering shock of relief. 

“Rose will kill us if we’re late,” Albus warned him, even though he was busy not caring. 

“I’ve never had a time limit on a first kiss before,” Scorpius mused. 

“First kiss? Someone’s cocky.”

“Shut up and move your feet, Albus.”

Albus moves his feet. He wasn’t the best dancer, but dancing with Scorpius was like hugging him—easier than breathing, and a way of making the world better. 

When Albus complained that Scorpius was the short one, and therefore shouldn’t be able to lead so well, Scorpius dipped him to prove a point. Albus came up spluttering as their spells broke, and rain fell into his mouth. It was hard not to laugh when Scorpius did, but he gave it his best shot on principle. 

Soaked to the bone, they danced across the grass. It was fairly awkward in the dark, with the rain hurled down on them, but it was easier than it should have been. Scorpius fit so well against him, and Albus could feel his heartbeat through their thin clothes, and he could smell coffee and the night air. Music echoed all around them, and Albus let a little of his magic bleed into the air, letting Scorpius see what he saw. 

Scorpius gasped. “Is this you?”

Albus could only nod. 

The rain that danced all around them shone with colour, stained gold and blue and green and red. It painted Scorpius’s skin in glorious colours, and turned his hair glassy and bright. It was sound brought to life. 

“You’re thinking sappy thoughts,” Scorpius said, leaning close to shout the words in Albus’s ear. He was so _close._

“I was thinking that we’re going to have to run back soon!” Albus yelled, heart in his throat. “Which means your time limit is almost up!”

The music climbed, and as they danced closer, Scorpius leaned up and kissed him. It was a very soft kiss, a stark contrast to the gathering storm. Albus shut his eyes, rain clinging to his lashes, and sunk into the kiss. He could still see the greens and reds and golds dancing with the rain.

Scorpius’s mouth was hot and welcoming, drawing him in. Their dance turned into an embrace when Albus pulled him as close as possible, clinging tightly. He tilted his head, slanting his mouth across Scorpius’s, chasing the heat. 

With a shuddering gasp, Albus drew back. He couldn’t see properly through the rain, bright as it was, but he could tell Scorpius as stunned and smiling. 

“We’re going to miss the show,” Scorpius said, running his hands up to grasp Albus’s hair. 

Albus laughed. “Worth it.”

They kissed again. And again. They kissed until the song ended, both of them barely dancing anymore, and when the rain became too much Albus grabbed Scorpius’s hands and kissed those too, before drawing him away from their soaked stone circle. By some unspoken agreement, they didn't let go of each other. 

Scorpius was shivering by the time they traipsed up the hill, and Albus wasn’t much better. At the top, they stopped outside the marquee entrance, where the curtain had been drawn, and shared a look before ducking inside. 

Rose was waiting for them with her wand aloft. 

“Where have you been?” Rose snapped, when the curtain shut behind them. She wielded her wand, casting drying and warming spells with alarming precision, and fixing their outfits while she swore at them. “Christ, I could kill you! Connor’s been telling the audience jokes for the last five minutes, even though this is a em>memorial show—”

She cut herself off, staring accusingly at their glowing faces. She turned incredulously to Albus, who shrugged unrepentantly. The show didn't officially start for another five minutes, and he planned to apologise later anyway with a hefty bottle of mead.

“It was definitely worth it,” Albus said, squeezing Scorpius’s hand. 

“Oh for Christ’s sake,” Rose said, rolling her eyes. She kissed Albus on the cheek, and then did the same to Scorpius, startling them both. “Congratulations. I’ll murder you both later. I’m very happy for you, so get your arse on stage before you say something to ruin it.”

Rose stomped off, vanishing into the crowd. Albus caught Scorpius’s eye and couldn’t help but snicker at the helplessly alarmed look on his face. 

“She really is terrifying,” Scorpius murmured, before jolting into action. “Oh! Onstage!”

Scorpius darted off before Albus could open his mouth. He watched, bemused, as Scorpius skidded to a halt near a group of Aurors and wheeled around, making a beeline back to Albus. 

“For luck!” Scorpius said, when he reached him, out of breath. Then he kissed Albus very quickly on the mouth, setting his pulse racing, and sprinted away again. Albus stood in the entrance to the marquee and grinned, red-faced and not caring about the looks aimed his way. 

“Welcome, Witches and Wizards,” Rose said from the stage, clapping her hands to get everyone’s attention. 

Albus tuned out the introductions. Dad would probably get up soon and say a few words, give a few speeches, just like he’d have to do at the end of the night. Kingsley would too. But even though there was a somber air over the crowd, and the rain battered the marquee, there was a lightness too. 

“This is a day of remembrance, and this year we have chosen to remember the good moments with the people we lost.” Rose stared out at the silent, watchful crowd, and a small smile broke over her face. “And the good in those that were left behind.”

A hush settled. 

Scorpius took to the stage, and Albus settled back to watch, his wand trained on him. In the audience, he caught sight of white-blonde hair, significantly higher up than his son would have been, had he not been walking across a stage. 

Draco Malfoy sat straight in his chair. There was a little white square of paper in the empty chair beside him, and Albus had no doubt as to whose name was written on it. His heart didn't sink or rise, but stayed steady, pounding in his heart. Scorpius hadn’t seen him yet, sitting at the piano in the middle of the stage, but Albus saw the moment that he did. 

Scorpius smiled, and even from across the marquee, it was bright. 

Albus murmured a few words, and the light that shone from his wand took on a new turn. As Scorpius pressed the first key, and the notes lit up the night, his smile settled into something softer. 

The spotlight bathed the stage in the colours of stained glass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story/art is part of an anonymous fest: drizzle 2019. Reveals will be in mid-october. Please do not repost anywhere else without explicit permission from the original creator.

**Author's Note:**

> The song played by Scorpius is 'Dreaming in Colour,' by Philip Wesley - sadly not truly composed by Scorpius, but still a beautiful song.


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